


Cage

by Mike_Remington_Hanson



Series: MadaTobi Week [18]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 04:49:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20829689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mike_Remington_Hanson/pseuds/Mike_Remington_Hanson
Summary: Prompt:Prisoner of war(fromMadaTobi Week 2019).





	Cage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crystallized_Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystallized_Shadow/gifts).

> Prompt: _Prisoner of war_ (from **[MadaTobi Week 2019](https://madatobiweek.tumblr.com/post/182718063236/madatobi-week-2019)**).

Tobirama is a swift, forceful thing, pinning Madara's body against the earth, pinning his wrists above his head. No hesitance in his touch. Ferocity in his gaze. Primal and gluttonous. Madara feels himself tremble beneath the weight of it.

There is something that thrills up and down his spine. Something that vibrates bone-deep. Excitement. Fear. The knowledge that _this_ — what they have, what they _are_ — is something forbidden.

Tobirama is all the things Madara is not allowed to want. But he _does._ Want this. Want _him._

Tobirama kisses him, hard, possessive. His body atop Madara's, holding him in place.

Madara cannot move. Does not want to. He melts into the kisses. The feel of Tobirama's lips, rough and warm against his. Tobirama's tongue, slipping into his mouth, sliding against his own. Tobirama's grip, so firm against his wrists, Madara's certain there would be bruises upon them come dawn.

The taste of desperation is bitter upon Madara's tongue. He strains against Tobirama, arching upward, against his body, into his kiss that says everything their words cannot. Madara loves and loathes this in equal measure, knows that Tobirama loves and loathes it too.

Even when they part for breath, they do not speak. They lie there, skin against skin, simply looking at each other. Tobirama loosens his hold upon Madara's wrists. His fingers come to trace the lines of Madara's face, caressing his jaw, his chin, his neck.

Madara spreads his legs. Says but a word. It is only Tobirama's name, but it is enough.

  


* * *

  


Tobirama is a contradiction. Gentle and not. A prideful, possessive thing he is, arms on either side of Madara, caging him.

Madara does not mind. He wants to be trapped like this, against the earth, Tobirama above him, muting all else.

His scent. His mouth. His gaze. His touch. They fill Madara's senses, drowning him from the inside out. And Madara _wants_ to drown. Wants to know nothing but the sensation of Tobirama moving inside him.

His arms come to wrap themselves around Tobirama, clinging. He can feel the shift of muscle beneath the sweat-slick skin of Tobirama's back. The strength of his spine. His skin made uneven by scars.

Heat, all around him. Tobirama, rough thrusts and rough breath.

Madara feels himself unraveling. He clings to Tobirama like a lifeline. Arms and legs and desperation. He loses himself in this. This pleasure. This heat. This thing between them that has a name he dares not speak. Pretends that this is no risk. That they are no secret.

Pretends that they can hold each other and never have to let go.

  


* * *

  


Dawn comes far too soon. It is a thing unwelcomed. Madara sees the sun rise and hates it.

Tobirama stands by the river, already armor-clad. Sunlight upon his hair. Sword sheathed by his side.

Madara looks at him and sees all the things he had been taught to fear. For here is the pride of the Senju — heir, warrior, _monster._

Madara dresses, his movements made slow and heavy. The bruises upon his wrists, hidden beneath his gloves and his sleeves. The marks upon his neck, concealed beneath the high collar of his mantle. The Uchiha symbol upon his back feels like a burden. A curse.

Tobirama, before him. His fingers soft upon Madara's cheek. Sorrow in the dark depths of his eyes. His jaw strongly set. He leans down, and when their lips meet, Madara can taste all the bitterness and anger at their fate.

For they are — in the eyes of their families — enemies first and always.


End file.
